The Memory of Narnia
by cassandrajane
Summary: Sequel to For Narnia. This is the story of those who had been left behind, and how they cope with loss... in a world much different from our own. PostLB.
1. Whispers

**CHAPTER 1: _Whispers_**

* * *

_"Where were you when they wrote the news?_

_And how are you, _

_Are you feeling blue?"_

-- Chantal Kreviazuk, _Blue_

* * *

_He was waiting… waiting… waiting… He had what was needed in his pocket. The place was bustling… busy._

_A noise… a train was rounding a corner too fast. Wait… _

_Suddenly… a flash of light; a light that disappeared almost instantly._

_Pain. And a heck of a lot of it, too. He felt weak. He raised his head and looked around._

_His brother. Swimming in a pool of blood. No need to check anything to know he was dead._

_Carnage. The entire place was filled with smoke and blood… and with dismembered body parts. Everyone was dead. The whole place reeked of death and destruction._

_He felt unconsciousness claiming him. He knew to succumb would mean death. He had to fight. He had to fight for _her.

_It was a losing fight. He knew it. Death was waiting for him with open arms. _

_Death was approaching. Everything was lost. He knew it. Yet…_

_Death was upon him. He, too, was lost. With the last ounce of strength he had, he screamed _her_ name._

_And everything went black._

* * *

Narnia Evenshire tapped her foot impatiently as she waited on the steps of Whitehall for her cousin Will. He was running late. They had agreed to lunch at one of those cafés by the river while her uncle, Nicodemus, arranged for the parliamentary position to be permanently transferred to him. 

It was a year since she came into her inheritance (viz. the Evenshire estate, a seat in the Parliament, and her ducal powers). She was now officially known as Her Grace, Narnia F. Evenshire, Duchess of Kent. After one year, Nia had decided to give her Seat in the House of Lords to her Uncle Nick (who had her seat for the past few years ever since her parents died). The Upper House was as impotent as the British monarchy, what with much of the legislative power given to the House of Commons, to be able to formulate any concrete laws – one year of sitting in the Parliament taught her that. Besides, Nia wanted to focus on her studies. She was studying Medicine at Cambridge. She wanted to be a doctor someday – it had been a sort of childhood dream. At nineteen, Nia had her life perfectly mapped out. She would become a doctor, then, after a few years, she would build her own hospital and marry Peter and live happily ever after…

Nia always felt a kind of thrill whenever she thought of her boyfriend (or more appropriately, lover, or betrothed), Peter Pevensie. He was the same regal yet down-to-earth man she'd met and loved in Narnia (the kingdom, that is). He still had the same commanding presence, the same vitality, the same look in his eyes whenever they gazed at her…

Nia shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Now was not the time to moon over Peter. He was somewhere in downtown London, sneaking in someone's backyard to recover Professor Kirke's magic rings, the ones used to transport people to other worlds. She was there last night when, while dining at the Professor's new house (located near Highgate), that mysterious apparition appeared. She was with Peter, Edmund, Lucy, Eustace Scrubb and Jill Pole (who were her schoolmates at Experiment House), and Miss Polly Plummer and the Professor, chatting happily about their experiences in Narnia, when suddenly, a mysterious, phantom-like young man popped into the room. From his livery, she was sure he was Narnian – the red lion silhouette was printed clearly on his shirt; from the way he carried himself, Nia was sure he was royalty – perhaps even the King himself. He was tall and rather muscular, with a frank and pleasant visage (although, Nia had to admit, he was no Peter). His face had a troubled expression – he was obviously in trouble deep. He disappeared as suddenly as he appeared.

It was than that Peter began making plans. Narnia was, he had said, in trouble, and she (the kingdom) needed their help. As there was no sign of Aslan sending Jill and Eustace there, Peter volunteered himself and Edmund to recover the rings Professor Kirke and Miss Polly had buried into the earth some fifty years or so ago. The seven of them (including Lucy, who wasn't exactly detrimental to the operation) arranged to meet at King's Cross. They were supposed to meet there an hour ago. They'd probably

Nia sighed, quelling a pang of jealousy that was rising from the pit of her stomach. She'd assured Peter last night that it was fine, and she'd hear all about it tonight, anyway. But in her heart, she wished nothing more than to be a part of that operation. After all, wasn't she a Queen of Narnia? She knew she _should've_ been there, waiting with Professor Kirke, not here, waiting for her cousin.

A bead of sweat trickled from her forehead. Oh, it was such a hot summer day! She sighed and went to the lavatory. She had to pee!

* * *

William Evenshire, Lord of Beckham, groaned loudly in frustration at the traffic jam he was caught and the midst of. He honked the horn of his car several times, before collapsing into his seat. 

"I hate traffic!" he shouted, his voice barely audible in the din. Every horn was honking, every driver was shouting. "By Jove, it's hot, don't you think?" he turned to the cat sitting on the passenger sit.

Toulouse looked balefully at him, those intelligent eyes meeting his own. Will had the uncanny feeling that his cousin's cat could think like any human. Goosebumps formed in his flesh in spite of the withering mid-July heat. He looked away from the cat. "Better find out what's wrong," he murmured to himself. He got out of the car – many of the other drivers were doing that, and approached one of his fellow motorists, a man old enough to be his grandfather.

"'Morning," he said, cocking his head in salutation.

"'Morning, son," said the old chap, cocking his head in reply.

"Any idea what's causing the traffic?"

"I'm as anxious to know that as you are."

"That's probably because of the ambulances and other whatnot," interrupted another motorist, this time, a young chap Will's age. "They say that two trains collided at King's Cross. They say many were killed!"

"Really?"

"That's what they say," the young chap continued, "that the accident was so bad, there probably are no survivors."

* * *

Nia splashed some water on her face. By Jove, was it hot! And what was keeping Will? He was already an hour late! 

"Good morning," a clerk said cheerfully, entering the lavatory.

"Good morning," she replied, smiling.

"I like your dress," said the clerk, a small, vivacious woman of twenty-five, eyeing the elegant powder blue suit she was wearing. "Where did you buy those?"

"I bought them downtown," replied Nia, turning to the mirror hanging above the faucet to apply face powder. "It's hot, isn't it?"

"Very," said the clerk, rolling her eyes as she entered the stall.

Nia took one moment to check her appearance. Her mousy curls were pulled into a braid (to be capped by a wide-brimmed satin hat when she went outdoors). Her face looked as polished as any fine lady's. In short, she was presentable.

"Have you heard?" asked the lady from her stall.

"Heard what?"

"They say," here, Nia heard the draining of toilet water into the sewers, "that two trains collided at King's Cross about an hour ago."

Nia's blood ran cold. "Really?"

"Really," said the clerk. "They say it was so bad, there probably aren't any survivors."

Everything seemed to spin. _Oh my God!_ Her legs nearly gave way. "Oh my God!"

* * *

"Are you a relative, Miss?" a nurse asked Nia, who nodded dumbly. 

The hospital was filled with relatives asking for their kin, hoping for the best. There were around ten survivors – it was a miracle that they'd survived. Nia practically ran to the hospital. She had to know if – if…

No… she couldn't bear to think of it.

"What's your relative's name?"

"Peter Pevensie."

The nurse consulted her list. "Nope, no Pevensie here…"

"Kirke?"

"Nope."

"Plummer."

"Nope."

"Scrubb? Pole?" She rushed out the last two names in desperation.

"Nope, nope." The nurse looked at her worriedly. "I'm sorry I was abrupt. Are you fine, miss? Do you want to look at the morgue?"

The morgue. To look in there would mean that…

"Maybe they weren't even there," she said aloud. She knew it wasn't true. She had to look.

"Miss?"

"Yes," Nia stammered. Oh how she'd wished Toulouse were here! "Please… take me to the morgue."

* * *

Will was sure it was Nia he saw entering the hospital. He parked the car and entered, with Toulouse at his heels, expertly darting past legs and wheels and canes. It sure was busy here. He couldn't breathe – it was _that _crowded. 

"Excuse me," he said to a male nurse standing by the entrance, "have you seen a girl wearing a powder-blue suit and a wide-brimmed hat, with curly hair, about five feet, five inches?"

"Yes, sir," the nurse promptly replied. "She's in the morgue. Down the stairs and right."

"Thanks!"

He found his cousin standing by the entrance to the morgue, her face, which had inspired poets and artists in Kent (though he'd never tell her that – she always had a low opinion of her beauty), was pale and wan.

"Nia, what are you doing here?" he asked.

"I was just checking if… Peter and our friends were supposed to meet at King's Cross at the time of the crash." Nia's deathly calm voice betrayed her worry.

"Oh my…"

"Exactly. They weren't on the survivors' list."

"And the morgue?"

"I haven't checked. The nurse asked me to look away first while she 'prepares' them."

"Cleaning up blood?"

Nia glared daggers at him.

"Oh, er… I'm quite sure they're not there, I mean, maybe they were early, or late. They're probably sitting somewhere else in London."

"Miss?" A female nurse poked her head through the door. "You can come in now." She looked questioningly at Will.

"I'm her cousin," he said, by way of explanation. "May I come in, too?"

The nurse nodded. "But the cat has to stay here."

"Oh, er…"

"Let's go." Nia held his hand firmly, and the two of them entered the realm of the dead.

Will and Nia looked around. Will shivered involuntarily, and he felt Nia tremble. The white cloths covering the dead were partially lifted to reveal their heads. The atmosphere was surreal… Will felt like he was in one of Dali's melting-clock paintings.

"No!" Nia sobbed suddenly, before wrenching her hand from his and rushing to one of the beds. Will followed her.

He gasped. Nia caressed the corpse's head with her hand, her tears bathing its face - the face of Peter Pevensie.

"No…" she was saying again and again. "No…" She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. "This isn't real," she said, as if assuring herself that she was in some sort of bizarre dream. His heart broke at the sight of her. She was the sibling he never had – his brother and sister rolled into one. He never thought he'd see her like this.

"I'm sorry, Nee." That was all he could say. Sorry. The stupidest, most pathetic word on the planet. That was all he had. Because there was nothing he could do to ease her pain.

He looked around and saw more familiar faces: Peter's siblings, Edmund and Lucy; Professor Digory Kirke and his friend, Polly Plummer; and his former schoolmates, Eustace and Jill. Will's gaze lingered on Eustace and Jill's corpses. They were so young… they had a bright future ahead of them… And then, suddenly, they were dead. All of them…

"They're all gone." Nia stood up and wiped her tears, looking at the corpses. "I think we should…"

Two dead faces at a corner, far away from Peter Pevensie's group, made him start.

"Er, Nia?"

Nia looked at him. "What?"

He pointed at the pair. Nia followed with her eyes, and she covered her mouth with her hands in shock.

"Aren't they…?" Will let the question hang as Nia moved mechanically approached the pair.

"Even them." Nia choked out. "They weren't spared."

"What should we do now?"

Nia looked once more at her friends' dead faces, fresh tears forming in her eyes, before they rested resolutely on Will. "This is her family, Will… We have to call _her_."

"I'll do that," Will offered.

"No," Nia grabbed his hand, and they made their way to the door. "I should be the one to call Susan."

* * *

Susan Pevensie opened her closet. It was nearly teatime, and she had a tea party to attend to. 

Suddenly, the phone rang. Susan rolled her eyes. Couldn't they see she was busy? She made her way to the phone and picked up the receiver.

"Hello, how may I…"

"Susan, this is Nia."

"Oh." Susan's voice sounded colder than she'd intended. The two of them hadn't talked in years. Nia Evenshire was a fool – and a darned lucky fool at that. That girl kept on living in that blasted fantasy world, and yet she was very rich and very clever and very beautiful.

Some people had all the luck, even if they didn't deserve it.

"Susan, please… I don't know how to say this, but…" Nia's voice cracked and wobbled in the other end.

"Well, what is it?" Susan had no time for. "Look, I have a party to go to, alright, now good…"

"Susan, your entire family was killed in a train crash."

**END OF CHAPTER**

* * *

_**Author's Note:** So... here it is. The sequel to "For Narnia". Read, enjoy, and review!_


	2. Funerals

**CHAPTER 2: **_**Funerals**_

* * *

_"While we are mourning the loss of our friend, others are rejoicing to meet him behind the veil."_

-- John Taylor

* * *

Nia had always hated funerals. Funerals were too somber, too solemn, and too fake for her liking. The last funeral she had attended was her parents', and for that short while, she hated everyone who had attended. She hated their false tears, their pretentious "sorries" (oh, how she hated that word!), their façade of sadness… Fine, maybe some of them weren't fake, but Susan's friends definitely were. 

Who in Aslan's name was Perpetua Dillyfeather, or Sara Beauregarde? Who were they to the Pevensies (except Susan, of course)?

And why the hell are they crying – and so noisily, too? Did they really care? Nia didn't think so.

"This is so wrong," Toulouse whispered in her ear (he was sitting on her shoulder). "This is supposed to be a funeral, not a fashion show." Ah, yes… That, too. Why was everyone here wearing black satin dresses and black felt hats?

Nia had long ago tuned out what the Reverend Michaels and Susan's friends had been saying. Their eulogies were bland – it was so obvious they didn't know any of the dead. None of the "mourners" were close to any of the dead. Peter's friends from Oxford (which was where he studied) didn't bother to attend – they disliked Susan's "theater troupe" so much, they couldn't stand the sight of them. Edmund was a loner whose only friends were numbers and manuals. Lucy's friends attended the service, but refused to go to the funeral because they were "too heartbroken at the sight of poor dead Lucy".

Too bad. Peter's friends were a decent lot who, if they'd been given the chance, would've fought during the War.

Of course, Susan ignored Nia throughout the entire ceremony, and Nia ignored her, too. Nia knew that Susan thought she was too childish, too caught up in her "imaginings" of a world that was named _after _her. Nia also knew that Susan blamed her for keeping her siblings in their "imaginary land."

And she hated Susan for that.

Nia glared at Susan's back. The ex-Queen was becoming more and more beautiful with each passing day. And the more beautiful she became, the more she sank into the quagmire of pretentions that was this world.

Nia didn't know exactly what happened to Susan the summer she had gone to America (which was also the summer Edmund and Lucy returned to Narnia for the last time, with their cousin Eustace). Before she boarded that plane, Susan Pevensie was still the Su Nia knew: caring – and more than a bit motherly, unpretentious, simple, and totally unlike Miss Susan, who looked a lot like Su, but was totally different. It was Miss Susan who returned with Mr. Pevensie from America. Su was lost among the Yankees.

Miss Susan didn't care for her siblings' childish dreams. All she cared about was her social life. Miss Susan was as vain as a peacock, always preening, always looking at the mirror. She avoided Nia and her siblings like the plague, and began socializing with the most popular girls in school. Miss Susan began to prey on other, less fortunate girls who were not as beautiful as she was. She was mean, yes, and disdainful. Her ambition was to find the perfect husband and become the most popular woman in London society (which was, Nia thought, a most shallow ambition).

The Friends of Narnia (for that was what they called themselves) tried to get Su back. They tried to invite her to their talks, and even hummed Narnian lullabies within her earshot. Nia even brought Toulouse along to convince her! Susan dismissed the last effort by saying that Nia was an expert engineer and that her automaton was quite convincing. It was then that Peter told them to stop, to accept the unchangeable.

Queen Susan was gone.

A tear fell from Nia's eye as she thought of this. As much as she abhorred Miss Susan, she still considered that witch friend.

The sound of cranks being turned brought Nia back to the scene. They were lowering the caskets.

Susan's friends howled louder.

"That's it," Nia whispered furiously. "We're going." What pretentiousness! Nia could not believe Susan would actually dare hire these – these "crying ladies"! She'd gone here wearing tinted glasses and a wide-brimmed hat just so everyone would pay attention to Susan and not to her (being a duchess has its cons, mind you), because she knew that was what Susan wanted… And now, that wretch turned her family's funeral into a circus!

"Hey, Nee, wait!" Will rushed after her. "You're not attending the funeral gathering?"

Nia shook her head, both at Will and at Susan's shallowness. "I just want to rest." It was nearly a week since the train crash, and she had been sleepless since then. She had another funeral to hold… By Jove, was she tired!

"Excuse me, dear." A petite, slender woman with wisps of gray hair stopped in front of her. It was Mrs. Scrubb. "I – I'm not attending the funeral party as well. Would you like to have a cup of tea? We have to discuss the other funeral."

Nia's heart broke at the sight of poor Mrs. Scrubb. Adelaide Scrubb had always been a strong woman – one of the more radical feminists Nia ever knew. Mrs. Scrubb was not an affectionate mother, yet, seeing her now, Nia realized how much she loved her son. Mrs. Srubb looked as if she hadn't sleeped in days: her eyes were bloodshot and her normally erect posture reminded her now of a wilting flower.

Oh, and Miss Susan, in her grief over her family, had neglected two Pevensie family friends: the Professor and Miss Polly. Nia was the one who'd arranged the funeral for tomorrow, at her Kent estate. She had help from Mrs. Scrubb, Uncle Nicky, and various friends of the Professor from the intellectual sphere (many of them her teachers at Cambridge).

"Addie?" Her husband approached their little group. "Let's go."

"I'd like that, mum," said Will (who always called women more than ten years older than he was "mum"). "What about you, Nee?"

Nia nodded. "Yes… I'd like that." She had another funeral to prepare, but she wanted to sit for tea, too.

* * *

Susan didn't feel like holding this… gathering. Not after losing her parents, her siblings, her cousin… 

At first she didn't believe Nia – who would believe that extremely infantile woman, anyway? She'd hung up.

And then the newspaper boy delivered the evening news. Among the casualties were her family. Her entire family.

What else could she do, but rush to the hospital? Susan couldn't remember much of what happened when she got in the morgue… She must've fainted. But she couldn't forget the lifeless faces…

Susan dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

She had the funeral arranged, with the help of her bestfriend, Perpetua. She had to make it a pretty funeral, one her friends wouldn't sneer at. There had been no time to think things out…

She had succeeded. And yet… she didn't feel happy with her achievement. The handsome young men of her society paid attention to her, and even kissed her hand! She was the most popular lady in the area. She finally got her dream.

She just didn't realize that her family's demise was the price.

She recalled Peter inviting her that morning to come with them to Chelsea, which she'd declined. Her siblings would probably talk about that imaginary land, anyway. And she didn't want to hear about that. They never really grew up, hadn't they? But Susan did grow up, and that meant she had to be more practical… more rational. Her siblings never understood her desire – her need – to grow up. _They_ pushed her away with their inane, childish talks… Without realizing it, they'd shut her out. When she wanted to talk about Peter's marriage prospects, or Lucy's introduction to society, they would always look askance at her. It was as if she spoke an alien language. The rift began to form, and she neither had the time nor the strength to bridge it.

Susan clenched her hands as she watched her friends drinking champaigne from Mr. Pevensie's collection. She had to move on. There was nothing that could be done for her family.

She scanned the crowd, checking if _that woman_ and her cousin were there. No, they weren't. Of course. She knew Nia hated social gatherings, which was an irony because back in… Because in Lucy's _stories_, Nia was supposed to be an ambassador, and what did ambassadors do, but attend parties? Or maybe they were making fun of Nia?

Somehow, Susan felt they weren't.

Anyway, it was good that Nia wasn't here, and it was lucky she went incognito during the burial (Susan saw her with that cat, Toulouse). She would just draw attention away from Susan. What a shame Will wasn't here, though. He was nice… But his cousin?

"Where's Madam Adelaide, Susan?" Perpetua sauntered over to where Susan was sitting.

"I haven't seen her." It didn't bother her that Aunt Addie wasn't here. She was, in Susan's opinion, a most improper woman who ranted and raved about gender inequality and the benefits of socialism (whatever that is). She would just turn this gathering into a political meeting, and Susan would not stand for it.

"Oh, well." Perpetua shrugged. Susan had always been in awe of Perpetua, and she'd always compared her new bestfriend with her old. Both were extremely wealthy, yes, but that was the only thing the two had in common. While the Duchess of Kent was "old money," with her income coming from various chunks of land lent to modern companies and farmers, Miss Dillyfeather was the heiress of a large shipping company. While Nia was (Susan heard some boys in her grammar school talking about this) stunningly beautiful, Perpetua was sharp-faced and rather cruel-looking. Both were intelligent young ladies, yes, but Miss Dillyfeather was a proper lady who engaged in socializing with London's upper class and had not less than twenty suitors lined up outside her door. Nia was a heathen who studied in college, wasting her looks and her money on studying when she was better off preparing for a bright future with a husband.

In short, Perpetua Dillyfeather was the woman Susan wanted to be, and Narnia (that name!) Evenshire was…

"Susan Pevensie?" A middle-aged, finely-dressed lady approached her. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Susan rose and made a small curtsy. "Thank you, madam."

"You're even more beautiful as they say you are," said the lady, her appraising eyes scanning Susan's face. "Excellent height and bone structure…"

Susan frowned. "Madam, if you don't mind my asking… Who are you?"

"Oh, I apologize," said the lady. "I forget myself… I'm Rebecca Nichols."

Susan gasped. Rebecca Nichols was the last word in women's fashion, head of an international modeling. What was she doing here? "Pleased to meet you, Miss Nichols."

"Well, I'm here to offer you a job, Miss Pevensie. Would you like to be a model?"

* * *

"I can't believe all of you left me," Nia said into the night. She was still in her mourning finery, even though some hours had passed since Miss Polly and Professor Kirke's funeral. Will had gone to town and wouldn't be back until the next day. She seized the moment to come here, by the newly-dug graves, to rant and rave as much as she wanted. She would leave tomorrow on a business trip. 

"This is called abandonment, you know."

Toulouse stood at the top of Miss Polly's gravestone. "I agree!"

"Did you really have to go at once? All of you?" She couldn't help it. Tears had begun to form in her eyes, and dropped in rivulets down her cheeks. "How could you leave me alone?"

Toulouse looked balefully at her. "I resent that."

"Me and Toulouse alone, I mean," Nia corrected. She had to stifle a laugh; thank God for Toulouse. "But this is unfair, you know. I know you're out there… I know you're in a very nice place now. It's unfair that I'm not there with you. I've lived far longer than you did… Why didn't you take me with you?"

"And leave me here? Please…"

"I'm sorry that Toulouse can't be more serious." Nia glared at the Cat. "He doesn't seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. Please excuse him."

"I'm not laughing, Nee. You are." Toulouse gave an audible sigh. He raised his head to the heavens. "But I swear – cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye – that I'll take care of Nia. I'll watch over her, but I've been doing that for the past nineteen years or so, anyway, so there's nothing new about that. And I know she can be quite a handfull – more than four handfulls, even, but I'll take care of her."

"And I swear I'll take care of Toulouse," said Nia. "After all, he's the only real friend I've got, aside from Will – and I can't exactly tell my cousin about Narnia, can I? I love Tou as much as I love Mum and Dad… I can't bear the thought of losing him now."

"They're watching over us, Nee." Toulouse leapt from the headstone and into her arms. "They're watching us from up there."

They heard the phone ring, but Nia didn't make a move to answer it.

"Let 'em ring," sighed Nia, hugging Toulouse. "I don't care."

* * *

_He watched over her from the nearby woods. He only had half an hour, earth time, to see her again, while his siblings visited their sister. By the Lion… she looked so tragic, so fragile (though he knew she was everything but). He was happy with his kingdom, yes… But his happiness wasn't complete. He thought he would never feel sadness again, yet the sight of his beloved crying over their mutual friends' graves brought him an inexpressible sadness. He suddenly regretted giving in to death. He wanted to be with her, and to die with her._

_More than anything, he wanted his beloved to be friends with his sister once more. He had seen his sister before he went here – she was on the brink of success,and yet she looked anything but enthusiastic. But he knew her as well as he knew the back of his hand. She was not happy. She was as far from happy as can be._

_"You have a minute, High King,," said a disembodied voice he knew so well. "The next time you see her after this is when she joins us."_

_He nodded, and strode, with all his kingly confidence (he knew his beloved would never see him, but still, it wouldn't hurt to look kingly, would it?) to where she was sitting, hugging her Cat. He bent over her and whispered in her ear, "Au revoir, Narnia." He smiled as she jerked in surprise. Then, he leaned over once more and, ever so gently, kissed her cheek._

_"High King."_

_"Yes, I'm going," he replied, heading back to the woods, but not before looking longingly once more at his beloved Narnia._

* * *

Susan couldn't sleep. Everything was happening so fast… Yesterday – just yesterday, she buried her parents and her siblings. And today, she went to central London to sign a five-year contract with Madam Nichols's modeling agency. 

Her mother would be proud of her, she told herself. She imagined Lucy squealing in delight, and Peter and Edmund congratulating her. And then, unbidden, Nia entered her thoughts. If they had still been friends Nia would've been happy for her… very happy, indeed. Yes, they would all have been happy for her…

If so, why didn't she feel happy for herself? She just felt… empty. She didn't feel any sort of enthusiasm for her new job.

Susan cursed herself for her lack of excitement. Wasn't modeling what she wanted to do? She could wear the trendiest clothes, be admired by the most handsome men, be the envy of every young lady… She was about to lead the life she'd always dreamed of – a fabulous, sophisticated life. Why couldn't she be happy about it?

_What's wrong with you, Susan?_

* * *

A gentle night breeze caressed Nia's face as she stared into the night. She didn't feel like going back just yet. She had the estate to herself that night… She gave the servants a week off. She wanted to sleep here by her friends. 

"I bought your house," she said to Professor Kirke's tombstone. "You know… the one in Surrey. I'm going there tomorrow… Mr. Johnson says he hasn't sold anything from your antiques collection. The Wardrobe's still there, and so is the Chest. I asked… I don't know what I'm going to do with it yet… Perhaps I'll move there and turn this estate into a museum – heaven knows this house contains enough to be one…"

"It's getting cold, Nee," said Toulouse suddenly.. "We should get in…"

_"Au revoir, Narnia."_

"What was that?" Nia started and looked wildly around.

"What?"

"I could've sworn someone said…"

"Maybe it was the wind."

And then, for a fraction of a second, Nia felt something very light brush her cheek. It seemed like the wind, but Nia knew it wasn't.

"We go back," said Toulouse. "It's getting so cold… This place is giving me the creeps."

Nia nodded, and stood up. Toulouse leaped from her arm and padded towards the house, while she walked at a slower pace. She didn't want to go in just yet, but Toulouse was right – it was getting cold.

"This place is haunted." Toulouse sat by the door and waited for her to fish the key from her coat pocket. "Honestly. You shouldn't have let the servants take their vacation at once."

_Haunted_. Nia stopped fumbling for her keys and turned around, towards the woods by the graves. Another tear fell from her eye as she realized what it was – _who_ it was...

_"Peter."_

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER**


	3. A Flash of Lightning

**CHAPTER 3: **_**A Flash of Lightning**_

* * *

****

"_Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away."_

_-- _Philip K. Dick

* * *

"Nee, there's a patient in the E.R., and…" 

Nia stood up from her cot. She was catching a few winks… She didn't get to sleep last night. There was a gunshot victim and…

The long and short of it was that she never really knew that her profession would be this… demanding.

Not that she was complaining, of course. She loved her job. She loved saving lives.

"Are you alright, Nia?" Dr. Stephens looked worriedly at her. "I know you haven't had much sleep these past few days, and this isn't exactly your department, but we're kind of short, and…"

"I'm fine, sir." Nia said, feigning energy.

It was around seven years after The Tragedy. Nia graduated _summa cum laude _from Cambridge two years ago and was immediately accepted at a private hospital in Kent as a GP for her first six months, and as a pediatrician (her specialty) after that. Lately, though, she was getting assigned to general practitioner tasks once more. It was Christmas, and many of the doctors were on leave. She mentally cursed those doctors for abandoning ship. Thank goodness it was her rest week next week! She dearly loved her job, but she badly needed some rest!

Still, she had work to do. And as much as she privately whined about her inhumane working hours, she would forget about that, anyway, when she actually got to work.

"We're here," said Dr. Stephens, opening the door to the E.R. "Are you ready?"

Nia smiled, already warming herself up to the task. "Ready."

* * *

"Don't you think I'm fat, Su?" Olive Carter, a fellow model, sighed. They were eating lunch at a chic café near the Louvre in Paris.

Susan privately cursed Olive for insisting on eating salads. How she longed for meatballs and ham! It was Christmas for crying out loud… why the hell was she eating crackers? Then, she remembered the box of chocolate bonbons waiting for her in her hotel room.

"Of course not, Ollie," Susan replied graciously. "You look beautiful." Olive was, in Susan's opinion, positively skeletal. Of course, it wouldn't be polite to say that… Susan prided herself in being a proper lady.

"I wish I could be as beautiful as you are," sighed Olive. "Or as beautiful as that duchess…" She was referring to Nia, who had been an instant celebrity when she'd attended Queen Elizabeth's coronation. As much as she hated to admit this, Susan admired her old friend for her (rarely-seen) impeccable fashion sense - the elegant white chiffon Nia wore for the occasion was just too adorable! If Peter could've seen her then…

Susan shook her head to clear her thoughts. Her family was dead, and she no longer kept in touch with Nia. That was that.

Susan had been a model for seven years now, and she'd just renewed her contract with Madam Nichols for another year. Yes, she was the toast of every society there was (London, New York, Paris, Los Angeles). She traveled a lot among these cities, although she liked to spend Christmas in London. She kept her family's house in Finchley and lived there whenever she was in London. It was the last remnant of her childhood, and she found herself not wanting to let it go.She half-wondered why she was here, instead of at home?

Oh, wait. The Dior show… The _most_ important event of the season.

"Oh my… look, it's…" Olive began.

Susan turned around and her heart skipped a beat as a very tall (about six feet five) young man with a mop of curly red hair entered the café. It was Will.

"Ladies, if I may…?" He gestured at an empty seat.

"Of course." Susan smiled, really meaning it this time. William Evenshire (yes, Nia's cousin) was her closest friend. He was her sole link to Nia – not, of course, that she really cared what the Duchess was up to. Of course not!

"What's that?" Will wrinkled his nose at her plate.

"It's salad, thank you very much," replied Susan.

Will shrugged, and then signaled to the waiter. "I'll have roast beef, thank you."

Susan bit back the urge to order the same.

Susan had known Will ever since they were teenagers, thanks to Nia. She'd always liked Will, because he was nice and warm and caring. She lost touch with him after she'd returned from her first trip to America, probably because she stopped being friends with Nia. William Evenshire was very close and extremely protective of his cousin, whom he considered his sister.

They met again three years after The Tragedy (Will told her that's what the accident the killed her family was called) during a fashion show in London. He'd reintroduced himself to her (as if she wouldn't have recognized him anywhere, what with that height and that hair!). The rest was (she was fond of using this cliché very much) history.

"I'll also have pork tenderloin," Will said suddenly to the waiter, "to go." He gave her a conspiratorial smile that was lost on Olive (who'd always been sort of stupid).

Susan couldn't help it. She laughed. Olive looked at her, puzzled. She shook her head. Will was so funny!

* * *

Nia rapped the bronze knocker on the door. It was finally her rest week! She'd love nothing more than to spend it sleeping.

"Oh there you are!" said Weatherby, the butler. "Goodness gracious, are those eye bags?"

"Yes," sighed Nia. "Good morning, Weatherby. Where's Uncle?" She stepped into the entrance hall. She as a rule, she kept a friendly relationship with the servants. The house was large (and I mean REALLY LARGE) and there were only the three Evenshires and the servants living in it. Nia never liked the house as a child – it seemed so cold and large and lonely – but it was certainly more comfortable now.

"In London. He'll be back this evening."

"And Will?"

"In Paris. He won't be back until Wednesday."

"By the way, there are letters…"

"Yes, thanks Weatherby."

"Your welcome, Nia." With that, Weatherby left the room. Nia took the letters from a low table at the side of the room and proceeded up the stairs and along a gallery to her room.

Nia Evenshire's room was the most well-lit room in the Evenshire manor. It was a very large room, as large as three modern studio apartments. Her canopy bed lay at the center of the room, surrounded by her wardrobe and her bookshelves. She also had a table there for when she didn't feel like working in the study. She got her penknife from her dresser and looked over the letters.

One was a telegram from Will, saying that he wouldn't be back until Tuesday, just before Christmas (Nia had always spent Christmas together with her Uncle and cousin, the servants – they also ate at the dining room table with the family – and the Scrubbs, who visited whenever they can). The other was from Adelaide Scrubb, saying that she and her husband would come Wednesday afternoon. The last one was an invitation from the hospital's owner, Albert Huntington, for his annual Christmas party on Friday.

Nia sighed. This was one of those parties she'd love _not _to attend, but compelled to. She couldn't refuse The Boss, but his parties were dreadfully… She couldn't find the word. Ah, yes. Elitist.

Albert Huntington, M.D., was thirty, and his family owned a chain of hospitals, hotels, restaurants, and oil fields around the world. He was a very attractive man and a bachelor (he was named one of the world's Top Ten bachelors last year), and therefore, whenever he gave parties, he always made sure to invite the _crème dela crème_ of the London society. Oh, and the staff of his hospital (the only one his mother would let him run), too, as an afterthought.

"Are you gonna attend that?" asked Toulouse, who was sitting on an armchair, as still as a statue. "The invitation looks good…"

"Nope." Nia wondered what kind of illness was she supposed to fake on Friday.

* * *

_"We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!" _

"Happy Christmas, Uncle," said Nia cheerfully that Christmas morning, handing her present to her favorite uncle.

"Happy Christmas, pet," said her uncle, handing her his present.

"Happy Christmas Addie…"

And so on, until each and every one of the household and the guests (the Scrubbs) had received his or her presents.

The Christmas breakfast was a feast – literally. Hester, the cook, outdid herself this Christmas, preparing bowls of baked beans, plum pudding, ham, curry… Nia was almost salivating at the sight of Hester's masterpieces.

"Pass me some of those!" hissed Toulouse, leaping onto her shoulder. "Yum!"

"So long as you behave," Nia whispered. "Happy Christmas, Tou."

"Back atcha."

"Where's Will?" Nia asked Mr. Scrubb, who was busy wolfing down his second serving of plum pudding.

"Haven't seen him."

"He went outside, dear," said Uncle Nick.

"Thanks." She went outside and spotted Will seating by the stone bench near the Graves (yes, with a capital G). Her cousin appeared to be in deep thought.

"So!" She said, sitting beside her cousin. "What are we thinking?"

Will laughed. "Nothing. I just came here to sit. I love the snow."

"Me too." Nia found herself thinking of the sixty-plus winters she had spent in Narnia. The English countryside reminded her too much of it.

"It's so white… so clean and pure. You could lose yourself in its endless whiteness…" Will sounded so… dreamy? Nia jolted herself from her Narnian reverie and stared at her cousin, more surprised than alarmed.

"Aha!" Nia finally figured it out. "So we're not thinking of the snow, are we? We're thinking of a certain someone… A certain _world-famous_ someone."

Will smiled rather sheepishly.

"Let's put a name to her, shall we?" Nia liked teasing her cousin. And she _loved_ the idea of Will and… "Her Christian name begins with S."

"Oh, does it?" Will raised an eyebrow, his lips curved into a smile.

"Yes. And her surname begins with P, and…"

"Oh alright!" Will threw up his hands in mock surrender. "I was thinking of Susan."

"I knew it!" Nia stood up and jigged. "I knew it!" She grabbed Will's hands and jumped up and down. "I knew it!" she repeated in a singsong voice. "Will loves Susan!"

"Okay." Nia stopped cheering and finally sat down. "I'm sorry… It's just that I was…" She was a little out of breath, after all that jumping and dancing. "How's Susan?" She knew about Will's friendship with Susan – that was how she stayed up-to-date with what Miss Susan was up to. She refrained from criticizing Susan when talking to Will (for he was extremely defensive), but during these past few months, Will himself had noticed that Susan was changing. It was as if she was slowly realizing that the world she lived in was as rotten in the inside as it was beautiful on the outside.

"Starving."

"Excuse me?"

Will told her about Susan's food frustrations.

"So," said Nia few minutes later, "you really love her, don't you?"

"Yes." Will's smile was almost idiotic! "And," he continued, more somber this time, "I do hope you become friends with her again, Nee. She's not like the rest of those models, Nee. She's trapped in their world, and she's struggling to break free. Believe me, Nia. I can tell."

* * *

Susan tried not to roll her eyes as she listened to Ms. Nichols's small talk about the latest trends and whatever…

She sipped her champagne and scanned the crowd for any sign of Will. The only reason she even went to this party was because she _had _to.

"Miss Susan, what do you think? Is it not that that Givenchy fellow is simply… queer? Look at those lines! And those patterns! They're fit for a Cockney!" It was Mr. Huntington, the host, and one of London's most eligible bachelors. His mother was a close friend of Ms. Nichols', and as her agency's most prized model, Susan had to attend the Huntingtons' yearly Christmas bash. Sure, they were great at throwing parties, but after seven straight years of hanging around with the same type of people (different faces, though, but never mind that), these affairs were fast becoming tiresome.

At least she had a reason for staying in London for at least a month. She'd be able to visit her family.

"Yes," said Susan, not really listening. "Definitely garbage material."

_What in Aslan's name am I doing here?_

Susan started. That name… Wasn't it one of her siblings' fairytale characters? _Nope. Definitely not_, said a strange voice that sounded a lot like her, speaking from somewhere in her mind.

_Of course it is,_ she answered back. _Oh, honestly. What's wrong with me?_

_Funny. _Susan could practically see that stupid voice rolling her eyes. _I was about to ask you the same question._

"Excuse me," she said to her company, smiled graciously, and headed for the lavatory.

* * *

Nia closed the windows of her room and kindled the fire. The radio had just announced that there was a huge storm coming up (which Nia thought was very odd, considering that it was the middle of winter). It was already ten, and the wind was howling.

"Must be some storm, eh, Nee?" Toulouse said sleepily from where he was curled up on Nia's bed.

"You're telling me." Nia went to the bed and dived under the covers (she still had that habit – especially on cold winter nights). She reached under her pillows and pulled out a large, platinum picture frame.

"It's sad, isn't it?" said Toulouse, looking at the picture.

Nia nodded, her eyes lingering on each of the faces. It was an old picture of five young people: the four Pevensies plus Nia a year after her adventures in Narnia. They all looked so young… All of them had a great life ahead of them.

And now there were only two of them left, and the two of them haven't seen each other personally (Nia often saw Susan in the society pages of the Sunday paper) in almost seven years. She suppressed a pang of regret.

"I miss you," she whispered. She had long since stopped mourning, had long since learned to live with her loss… Still, there was a twinge of sadness whenever she saw this picture. She could still see Aunt Lenny grinning broadly as she took their picture under the warm Brighton sun. "Goodnight."

There was a flash of lightning and a boom of thunder.

Nia and Toulouse jumped about a mile from the bed.

The storm had arrived.

And then, almost ominously, the fire went out, plunging the Evenshire manor in darkness.

* * *

Susan heard the crack of thunder as she emerged from the lavatory. She vaguely remembered hearing the storm advisory before coming here, but…

And then, suddenly, the power went out. The Huntington mansion (and most of England, for the matter) was plunged in darkness.

Several people screamed, and then all was quiet. Susan felt fear gripping her, and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Rebecca?" she called out. "Perpetua? Sara? Olive?"

No one answered. In fact, no one seemed to be around.

_Impossible_, thought Susan. _I'm in a party. Of course there are lots of people here! They're just… scared. That's all. They're scared._

_Well_, said that voice in her mind, _what if you're no longer at the party?_

* * *

Sunlight filtered through the window, waking Nia up. She must've fallen asleep. She sat up straight and saw Toulouse sleeping beside her. And there was Will, sleeping on her armchair.

Wait a minute… What was Will doing here?

She fanned herself with her hand. It was unusually hot. The air seemed desert-like! Beads of sweat began to form on her forehead. She drew the curtains and looked outside.

"Oh my God," she gasped, shell-shocked, staring at the scene before her eyes. "_Oh my God_…"

She'd seen pictures of the Atacama in Chile, but the scene surpassed even _that_, never mind how.

"Will!" she said urgently, shaking her cousin awake. "Will wake up!"

"Huh…" Will opened his eyes and looked blearily around. "What am I doing in your…"

"Look at this." Nia grabbed his hand and pulled him to the window.

"Oh my…" Will looked at the view outside, more shell-shocked than she was. "Where are we?"

"I dunno…" said Toulouse suddenly, leaping into the armchair (which was facing the window). "One thing's clear, though," he continued, ignoring Will, who was staring at him, stunned. "We're not in England. And no, Nee; we're definitely _not_ in Narnia."

**END OF CHAPTER**


	4. Deadwood

**CHAPTER 4: **_**Deadwood**_

And then there was light, and a heck of a lot of it, too.

Susan, who had been sitting alone in the dark for what seemed like ages (she had long since given up calling her companions), was momentarily blinded, and shielded her eyes from the sudden glare.

And then, the light became less intense. Susan lowered her hands and opened her eyes. Her jaw dropped. _"Impossible!"_

Susan Pevensie, who was, only minutes before, in the middle of a party in modern London, now found herself standing in the middle of a crowded city.

Her jaw dropped. She ogled at the sight. The city was so strange... Everything seemed to be made of some strange reddish rock. Where in the world was she?

Suddenly, someone grabbed her hand and _yanked_ her away from the crowded streets. She couldn't break free. The two of them ran and ran past the crowds, past houses, until they reached a deserted street.

The mysterious hand-yanker stopped and dropped her hand.

"Who are you?" gasped Susan. "Why… Why did you…?" She was out of breath – it was extremely hot. Her feet were bruised – she'd lost her pumps several streets ago and the streets were unfortunately cobbled - and she was bathed in sweat. On top of that, she was still reeling from shock.

The Person was tall – almost as tall as her brother Peter had been. He or she was wearing queer clothes made of coarse wool and cotton. The head was veiled and hooded, so the face was not visible.

"Come with me," said a deep male voice coming from within the veil.

"Excuse me?"

"I promise I will not hurt you. You are not safe here in the open. We must go to the Tavern…"

Tavern? "Listen, buddy, or whatever your name is," said Susan indignantly. Who did he think she was, anyway? Some tavern-girl? A prostitute? "I am a decent woman and I don't go into Taverns!"

"We must go. Else, the Queen will have you killed. It is obvious you come from strange lands, and she does not allow any foreigner into Helion. The Tavern is a decent place, lady. 'Tis not what you think it is."

The man's words triggered something deep within Susan's mind: a memory of another Queen in another land; a queen of snow and ice, and her sanction against humans.

The man grabbed her arm, gently this time. "Lady?"

"Yes," said Susan, dazed from that memory. "Yes… Let's go."

* * *

"We're in some weird desert place," said Will blankly, his back turned on his cousin. "We're stuck in your room in the middle of the Atacama of wherever this place is. And your cat talks."

"Toulouse can talk ever since I can remember," said Nia, who was putting on a white cotton shirt and a pair of beige slacks.

"I'm dreaming."

Nia reached out and pinched her cousin hard.

"Ow!"

"Still dreaming?"

"All I can see is desert," said Toulouse, who was still looking out of the window. "Miles and miles of desert."

"Great. And we've little supplies here," said Nia. "We've only a pitcher of water and some crackers." Nia was a thirsty person and frequently got up to drink at night. "We've got to check this place out. Who knows? Maybe there's an oasis here or something…"

The place outside was a depressing sight. The ground was dry and cracked, and no sign of life could be seen for miles. The horizon was a haze… Nia thought it would not be long before all of them would begin hallucinating.

"There's an umbrella here somewhere," said Toulouse, diving into Nia's open wardrobe.

"Are you sure we have to go out?" asked Will. "I don't like this place… I mean, aside from its being a desert."

Nia, too, felt a sense of foreboding. There was something unearthly in this place. It was not the hazy horizon… It was almost as if the place was _cursed_. She shrugged it off and reached inside the wardrobe for her umbrella.

"You hold the fort," Toulouse said to Will. "We'll go out and look around."

"Excuse me, but I'm the man here. Besides, it doesn't look safe…"

"Look, bud, we've done this before. You can step outside, if you want, and be on the lookout for us. That way, we can make sure this room stays here, and at the same time we can discover what kind of place this really is."

Nia opened the door, expecting to see the familiar corridor leading to her room, and finding herself staring at the same view outside her window: miles and miles of sheer drought.

* * *

"You're right, Tou," said Nia as she traipsed along the dry, cracked earth. "This is no Narnia. The desert in that world resembles the Sahara. It's sandy and orange. But this place is no Sahara. It's nothing like I've ever seen before." By the Lion, it was so hot! Nia felt beads of sweat trickling down her face and wiped them away with a hand towel.

"I can't help but think over what Will said before we left," said Toulouse, plodding beside her. "This place doesn't feel right. It's not like the Atacama… This drought isn't natural at all."

"Do you think Will will be alright?" Nia was seized by a sudden, overwhelming anxiousness for her cousin. "We shouldn't have left him alone."

"He wanted to stay," said Toulouse. "He'll be fine." The Cat's tone was a half-hearted attempt at comforting Nia. He failed miserably.

Nia bit her lip and looked ahead. "Hey, what do you think is that?" she asked, pointing at what appeared to be a mass of dried wood, extending far to the left and far to the right, as far as Nia could see.

"Let's have a look." Toulouse rushed ahead and stopped short before the mass. "By the Lion!" he exclaimed, obviously surprised.

"It's a forest," Nia gasped, examining the wood, almost afraid to touch it.

"It _was _a forest, Nia. I was right. This isn't natural. I ask you, is there a forest of dead trees in the Atacama? I don't think so."

Nia folded her umbrella and touched one of the trees with its tip. The tree promptly turned into dust and collapsed into the ground. "Oops…"

"What kind of trees do you think these had been?" asked Toulouse, padding amongst the trees, moving deeper and deeper into the dead forest.

Nia looked up and down as she walked amidst the dead plant life. "I'd say these were deciduous trees once, a lot like the trees in Kent. Look at those branches," she said, pointing at the branches of one tree. "And the bark of that tree. That must've been a magnificent oak... Tou, we've got to get back to Will!"

Toulouse nodded, and the two of them walked carefully, avoiding contact with the trees, until they neared the front.

That was when they heard voices.

* * *

"Who are you?" Will demanded.

One of his captors grinned, showing teeth of what appeared to be solid gold. "Why, we're the Queen's Guards, boy – I mean, _man._"

The rest of his captors laughed rather wickedly, sending chills down his spine. He closed his eyes and tried to detach himself from the world, trying to imitate those Indian fakirs he'd heard about.

He failed miserably.

A few hours earlier, after Nia and her amazing cat had left to explore, Will decided to go out of the room and made the foolish mistake of closing the door (it was his habit to close the door after him, and he was _distracted_ today). The click of the door jolted him out of the myriad thoughts running through his mind. He turned around, and there was no sign of the door, the room, or anything from Kent.

That was how the Queen's Guards found him a few minutes later, cursing himself for his stupidity, trying in vain to find the door back to his cousin's bedroom. All he could remember was something hard hitting his head, and the next moment, he was already tied to a pole, like some pig, with two men carrying the pole, one on each end, and four other men ahead and behind them.

It was lucky, though, that he wasn't gagged or blindfolded.

And now, after a few miles of trudging under the burning sun (for the sun was burning), the Queen's Guards stopped for a while several meters short of what appeared to be a forest of dead trees. Will noticed that the Guards had shied away from it, though, and avoided looking at it, whether from superstition of from a terrible memory, he didn't know. There was, however, fear in their eyes.

The troupe dropped him on the ground like a sack tied to a stick, and then sat on the ground and drank from some sort of skin. Will stared at them.

The Queen's Guards were tall – very tall. Will was considered very tall himself, but these men were more then seven feet tall! Their skin color varied from olive-skinned to coal black, but all of them were bald, their heads shining like burnished wood in the sun. They were all wearing some sort of orange-ish, brownish hooded uniform made of coarse wool. The neckline at the back of their necks was low enough to reveal some queer sort of tattoo at the napes of their heads.

Will shivered. Was this some sort of a cult?

"Who are you?" By Jove, was he thirsty!

"I told you already," said the Guard who'd already spoken to him – the olive-complexioned Guard, "we are the Queen's Guards. Now shush!"

"Where are you taking me?"

"Why, to the Queen, of course. Now shush, or I will be very angry!" The Guard really meant it. Will bit his lip. Had they caught Nia as well?

He saw a flash of black amongst the dead wood. It was Toulouse, the Talking Cat. Nia was nearby… Will couldn't decide whether she was safe, or in danger.

* * *

Nia desperately wanted to step forward and save Will, but the sight of his captors (six humongous men), who appeared to be almost two feet taller than she was, frightened her extremely.

It was a good thing the Guards seemed to not want to enter the woods. She was hardly breathing. The Guards seemed to be tense to the point that they would jump at the slightest sound. She moved deeper into the woods to conceal herself, careful not to let her cousin's party out of her sight.

The Guards stood up, and two of them lifted the pole to which Will was tied. The tiny procession then proceeded, following the course of the forest to the east (or at least it seemed to be the east – it was obviously morning, and they went in the direction of the sun) yet carefully avoiding getting too close.

Nia, carefully making sure that she could not be seen, began to follow them. Toulouse had gone somewhere, but she was sure the Cat would be able to catch up.

Sure enough, Toulouse appeared some moments later.

"Where have you been?" Nia whispered, fanning herself. She was already bathed in sweat, and probably stinking, too.

"Exploring. What are we going to do about your cousin?"

"We follow them. We have to know where they're taking Will."

* * *

Susan didn't remember much of the way to the Tavern. She was in a daze… Where was she? She could find no logical explanation as to how she got where she was. All she knew was that, somehow, during the mass blackout, she had ended up in a desert-city called Helion, which, apparently, was ruled by a tyrant queen.

_You're in another world, girl_. It was that stupid voice again.

_That's impossible,_ Susan told herself. _You can't be in another world. There are no other worlds… It's just not _logical.

_Well, you're nowhere near London, when, only minutes ago, you were in the middle of a Londoner party. Face it, Susan. Your situation is anything but logical._

"We're here," said the man suddenly, stopping before a door that blended against the sandstone walls so well, Susan had to look closely to see it. He looked up and down the street, and up the buildings, to see of anyone was watching.

No one was. He knocked on the door loudly and slowly four times, and then softly and rapidly three times. After a few seconds, the door opened. The hooded man let Susan enter first, and then closed the door after him.

The Tavern looked like, well, a tavern. It looked – and felt – Scottish, actually (which was strange because they were surrounded by arabesques and minarets). It was a fairly large room (by country standards) with a low ceiling. It was well-lit, and there was a bar (or what appeared to be a bar) and a bartender. The room was crowded with both men and women, of all shapes and sizes; all of them wearing the same coarse wool the hooded man wore.

And they were all staring blankly at her. Susan wondered whether she should curtsy or not. She turned around to look at the hooded man for help.

She gasped, struck dumb at the sight of the hooded man's unveiled face: a handsome, regal face with greenish, bluish eyes framed by a mass of blond curls.

_"Caspian…"_ she whispered. _No… Caspian was just a story. _Somehow, she could not bring herself to believe that.

"Welcome to the Tavern," said the man who resembled Caspian, "Lady…?"

Susan's mouth felt dry. "Susan," she managed. "Susan Pevensie."

"She is a foreigner!" exclaimed one of the women. Everyone suddenly broke into whispers, until the man standing behind the bar said, "Oh, shush all of you! She may be who we're looking for."

Susan looked at them, bewildered. What could they mean?

"The Lady is tired," said Caspian's look-alike. "She would like to request a room, father."

Apparently, the Tavern was an inn as well.

The bartender immediately came forward, a copper-skinned, stout man in his fifties (Susan couldn't find some trace of paternity in the man). "I apologize, Lady Susan," he said, bowing again and again. "I forget myself. Not many foreigners come to Helion, you see." He led her up a narrow flight of stairs and into a narrow corridor with rooms on each side. Susan took it all in, amazed. She'd never seen anything like it!

"This is your room, Lady," said the bartender (who also was the owner), stopping beside the third door on the right side and fumbling for the key. "It's the largest in the lot." He opened the door.

The room was not that large – not by earthly standards, anyway. It was larger than Susan's room in Finchley, but way smaller than her room at the Ritz. It looked like a room in a backwoods cabin: small, low-ceilinged, and extremely cozy. The bed was large enough for her, anyway; Susan Pevensie was never particularly picky about rooms.

"As for your clothes, Lady, we will lend you some. I understand you have brought no possessions. You will find some slippers under the bed. If you want, we will send someone here to massage your feet."

"Thank you, sir," said Susan, smiling warmly. Her feet hurt terribly, but she didn't want to abuse these people's hospitality. Besides, something was up. She had to know what that was. "I just need rest."

"Well then, I shall tell Laila to bring you some nightclothes."

"Oh, er, sir?"

"Yes, Lady?" The bartender paused by the door and looked back at her. "What is it?"

"That man… the one who brought me here. What is his name?"

"Oh, you mean Clavo? He is a foreigner as well, or of foreign blood, anyway. Found him in Deadwood some thirty years ago and adopted him." The man grinned. "He's my son."

"Deadwood?"

"Oh, 'tis the woods outside the city. It has been called 'Deadwood' for as long as I can remember. Anyway, it is a dead forest." He shrugged nonchalantly – a bit too nonchalantly, Susan noticed. Something was up. She had to find out what that is.

But for now, she was content to lie here and think.

And let the memories she had long kept at bay wash over her.

* * *

The woods stopped short of what had once been a wide, deep, and mighty river. Well, it was a river basin, anyway; there was no water.

Several feet away, Nia saw the Guards descend carefully into the basin with her cousin (and the pole). She carefully walked to the edge of the forest and saw where the Guards were heading. The sun was setting and the light was a bit dim, but it was enough to let Nia see where Will's captors were heading.

The river basin appeared to begin right smack in the middle of a city on a gentle, sloping hill. She could see the spires and turrets of what appeared to be the palace of that city.

"A city," Toulouse whispered. "We've got to get in there."

"Well then, lets…"

"We've got to get in there, Nee, but it won't do Will any good if you get caught as well," said Toulouse. "I'll scout ahead and then I'll come back here, hopefully with something that will help you enter the city unnoticed."

"But…" Nia took a deep breath. She badly wanted to go as well, but Toulouse was right. "Be careful, Tou."

"See you, Nee. Your supplies will last the night, will it?"

Nia nodded. She still had enough water and crackers to last the night. It was lucky she thought of bringing some. Her pouch was practically bulging with packs of crackers.

"Well then, I'll see you, Nee."

"May the Lion watch over you, Tou." Nia watched as Toulouse nimbly jumped into the basin and darted upriver, into the city. _May the Lion watch over us all._

**_END OF CHAPTER_**


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